Twoweeks after we bought our Italian farmhouse my husband Matt and I were still trying to understand how the garbage worked. This is doubly embarrassing because in Italy we generate much less waste than we do in the United States. Italians use less packaging, they do not sell items in bulk, and reusable bags are the norm when shopping. If you forget your reusable bags, you have to buy plastic or paper ones, or try to carry your purchases without dropping anything.
During our walk-through of the house, the sellers briefly explained that the garbage was color-coded. Glass went into the tall green container at the garbage collection bin 800 meters up the hill. Paper and cardboard, when it was not burned in the stove, went into a paper bag. Plastics and metal recyclables went in blue bags. Everything else went in yellow bags. Free bags were available at the old service station down the road that has beads hanging in the doorway.
We recycle avidly at home in Florida so raccolta differenziata rifiuti (waste sorting) seemed easy enough. We put our food waste in the required biodegradable plastic bags that we quickly learned ripped to shreds. Every day we took a triple-layered bag to the bin so it would not stink up the house or attract bugs. Every day we would see them, piling up in the bin, right where we had put them.
Our neighborhood trash bin
We share the garbage bin with about 6 other families and we were concerned that our unusually large new-house trash might cause trouble with our new neighbors. The first week, our yellow bags in particular piled up and filled the bin.
In searching the web to find out what exactly could go in the blue bags, I discovered that the garbage guys collected certain bags on certain days. Yellow bags and paper are only picked up on Mondays and Thursdays respectively. Blue bags are taken Wednesdays and Saturdays. The handy graphic said nothing about the biodegradable sacks that still sat there degrading at the bottom of the bin.
Our garbage days
Giuseppe our farmer-neighbor-friend came over and I showed him the website that I had bookmarked on my laptop. He looked at it and nodded. I asked him when they pick up the bio bags. He shook his head. “In the country, they don’t collect the bio bags.” He waved his hand around. “They expect farmers to compost it.”
The garbage guys finally took our bio bags. That or some wild animal got into them. Either way, they finally disappeared. We starting composting our bio bags or dropping them in a designated container on our drive into town. Using raccolta differenziata, our city of Tolentino recycles 74% of its waste. Figures are updated monthly and published online. In contrast, our county in Florida recycles less than 2% of its waste.
We now stockpile our trash and drive it up the night before our appointed day. We still don’t know what day glass is gathered but we know that one of neighbors likes Moretti beer on the weekends. We don’t judge because they know we like our wine.
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One of our first nights in Le Marche we dined at Seta Cruda, a restaurant famed for its innovative seafood. The owner, Elia, extolled the virtues of Verdicchio, a white wine made in two nearby regions, and wanted us to try one from each area. “Verdicchio from Jesi is influenced by the sea, Verdicchio di Matelica is influenced by the mountains,” he said. “Every time you return, I will have a new Verdicchio for you to try.”
Verdicchio, the wine most identified with Le Marche, has grown here for centuries. In the past it was stored in curvy amphora-shaped bottles. You may recall the mass-produced fish-shaped bottles of Verdicchio? It’s the same grape, but a different wine. Verdicchio can be made into easy-drinking table wines but producers who focus on quality make notable, ageworthy, and complex wines that are worth seeking out. Both the Matelica and Jesi riserva varietals have been awarded DOCG status, Italy’s highest quality designation.
Photo courtesy of Brunori Azienda Vitivinicola
One recent weekend, Matt and I took my aunt and uncle who were visiting for a Verdicchio tasting to discover how the same grape makes different wines thirty miles apart. Our first stop was at Brunori, where we met Cristina Brunori and her father Giorgio. The estate was founded in 1956 by Cristina’s grandfather Mario, who was one of the first in the area to quit selling bulk wine and instead bottle quality wines.
In the climate-controlled cantina their wines ferment in stainless steel and age in huge cement tanks built into the wall. “We don’t want to introduce any flavors to the wine,” she said. Upstairs in the bottling area, they use natural corks in their bottling machine. “Wine is a natural product. We prefer to use a natural closure,” Giorgio said. “Wine is a living thing.”
Brunori Grape Vines
We tried three generously poured Verdicchi in their tasting room, accompanied by breads, meats, and cheeses typical of the region. My aunt and uncle, who normally prefer red wines, liked the Verdicchi. I tasted something unusual at the end of my first sip. “What is that? Nutmeg?” I guessed. Giorgio smiled. A hallmark of a good Verdicchio is a bitter almond finish.
With an alcohol content as high as 14.5%, and a structure to match, these wines are meant to be paired with food. While seafood is the obvious choice, it would stand up to meat. We decided coniglio(rabbit) would be perfect. I asked Cristina for a lunch recommendation. She suggested Vino e Cucina in the nearby walled town of Staffolo and even called them to make sure they were open and had room for us.
Three hours after our arrival, we left Brunori with 18 bottles of the wines we had sampled. At an average price of around €10, their wines typified Le Marche: under-the radar; made by talented artisans; super-high quality, and a great value. I called our next appointment, Bisci, from the restaurant to explain we would be late.
Verdicchio di Matelica’s 300-hectare growing area is almost 10 times smaller than that of Castelli di Jesi, making these Verdicchi less known. Founded by two brothers in 1972, Bisci is also an organic winery, and larger, with around 20 hectares (about 50 acres) of vines. They too, hand-pick their grapes and ferment and age in concrete.
Our tasting was rushed because of our late arrival, but Andrea poured us two whites and two reds. My favorite was a single-vineyard Verdicchio that had aged for more than 12 months in the bottle. Similar to Verdicchi from Jesi, these from Matelica also exhibited the characteristic bitter almond finish. The Bisci Verdicchio had a pronounced green apple flavor, with more minerality. We bought 6 bottles; each label was numbered, one of a limited bottling. After our tasting we wandered the winery to watch their harvest work in progress.
Plots of parallel grapevines are the stripes on the patchwork quilt that is Le Marche’s rolling landscape. Until the 1950s this area had been farmed by mezzadri, sharecroppers who gave half (un mezzo) of their proceeds to the landlord as rent. Their hardworking legacy lives on in the many small wineries that dot Le Marche’s valleys.
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See a terrain-view map of the two Verdicchio regions here.
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I saw the house advertised in a magazine about Italy. Restored country home on eight acres with olive trees and grapevines. Recently reduced in price by one-third. Stunning views of the Sibillini Mountains and hilltop towns. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms, 2500 square feet, comes furnished. Restorable ruins on the property and room to add a pool. I showed it to my husband Matt. “What’s the catch?” He asked. “There has to be something wrong with it for that price.”
Kevin, the real estate agency owner, emailed the GPS coordinates, floor plans, photos, and the estimated fees and taxes. Two prior sales had fallen through and the British couple that owned it was ready to sell. “By far, it is the best value on my website,” he wrote in one of his many replies to our questions. He mentioned that the neighbor’s dogs sleep in the road that the house was built curiously close to.
View of the house through vines and olive grove
We arranged a trip to see the house and explore Le Marche in February. I had dreamed about having a home in Italy and this house checked all of my boxes. Our original plan had been to fall in love with an area, rent a place for a couple of weeks every year until we could retire. By then, we would get to know the locals and hear about a great opportunity. The night before we departed for Italy, my fortune cookie said: “Don’t be afraid to take a chance when the opportunity of a lifetime appears.”
We visited six other properties before arriving at the one we had traveled 5,000 miles to see. I got out of Kevin’s car and got the goose bumps. It wasn’t from the view. Thick heavy clouds in the grey sky portended rain and obscured the hilltop towns and the Sibillini Mountains. My feet, standing on the gravel driveway, felt connected to the earth in a way they never had.
“Before” Exterior view from the North
The interior looked better than the pictures. We loved the wood-beam ceilings, the open floor plan, the many windows. Mild humidity damage in the walls was easily fixable for €2,000. Matt and I returned to see the exterior over the weekend. Two dogs slept undisturbed on the road, no cars passed by to disturb them. We walked through the house again Monday morning and I emailed our offer at lunch. It was accepted that evening.
Before we flew home, we met with our English-speaking lawyer Fabio. With one signature and a photocopy of our passports, he would obtain our codice fiscale, the identification number required to do almost anything in Italy. He would open a bank account for us across the street from his office. He would draft our compromesso, the binding contract written in English and Italian, signed by the sellers and the buyers.
Close up of wood beam ceiling
While we had pre-qualified for an Italian mortgage, Kevin had told us “avoiding the mortgage would really help,” and Fabio described a mortgage as “a really big headache.” Thankfully, the day after we returned from Italy we sold our Florida rental property.
The weak dollar was hurting us, with €100 equal to $123 at the time. I obsessed about the exchange rate. I checked it on my phone, (even adding a widget), watched for market fluctuations, and created accounts with four registered currency exchange providers to see which one had the best deal for our situation.
Traditional Le Marche farmhouse exterior stairs
One month later Fabio watched on Skype as we signed the compromesso the required 52 times. We wired a deposit directly to the sellers. We would send the balance to the notaio, the public official responsible for property sales, prior to signing the deed. Fabio said, “Next time you come to Italy, you will own a little piece of it.”
The Sibillini Mountains reassure my orientation as I get my bearings. But Le Marche’s southwestern border disappears often. Morning fog and afternoon clouds obscure not only their Stegosaurus summits but also any hint of their foothills. I peek reflexively from our house.
Part of the Apennine Mountain chain, the Sibillini are protected by a 270-square mile National Park (70,000 hectares). Twenty of its peaks are more than 6,562 feet (2000 meters) high. Inhabited since the Neolithic era, the Sibillini became known in the Middle Ages as the kingdom of fairies, mystics, and the prophetess Sibyl, who lived in a hidden cave near the top of Mount Sibilla.
Knights seeking adventure, writers seeking stories, and travelers seeking answers all ventured to the Sibillini. A dozen towns scattered around the park and a system of shelters has long provided hospitality in this mysterious area. Today, ambitious hikers can trek the “Great Ring,” a 124 – kilometer long path that encircles the park. The rest of us can bike or walk the dozens of signposted trails; visit museums and old churches; bird watch; eat local food; view wildlife; and admire rare wildflowers.
In February my husband Matt and I drove up into the mountains. It was snowing, dissolving in lower altitude, accumulating as we ascended. Nine particularly wicked switchbacks were numbered ominously. After the ninth we parked at a closed ski resort. Empty chairlifts stuck in midair.
A van parked next to us and children dressed head-to-toe in snow suits bumbled out, grabbed their sleds, and trudged to the edge of the hill where they disappeared. Families had taken over the ski resort to go sledding. Never had I wanted so badly to wear a giant snowsuit.
When we return in May the summits are less snow-capped and the snowmelt creates waterfalls along the road. We stop at one and I take a picture of Matt touching the icy water. It flows too fast to fill a water bottle. A driver passing by notices what we’re doing. He slows, smiles broadly, and nods in approval.
The Fiastra Lake is ethereal aquamarine when we reach it and walk the pebbly shore. Birds soar overhead, the only visible sign of life. The mountains’ reflection ripples on the surface, the air smells crisp.
Small manufactured buildings line the main street of Fiastra. Temporary structures installed to house businesses until the buildings damaged by the earthquakes two years ago are restored to anti-seismic standards. Down an empty cross street, wood braces support still-beautiful pastel buildings. We wait in the car, stuck in a one-way street behind a gentleman who has gotten out of his car. He is looking for a place he cannot find. A man emerges from one of the buildings. They speak. The man shakes his head, points his finger. The driver nods. He walks back, not to his car but to ours, and apologizes for our delay.
Just outside of Fiastra, we follow a sign and drive up a steep narrow path I’m not certain was intended for vehicles. Tree branches slap our car. We park at the top, near an old church. A path lined with purple and blue wildflowers leads to the remains of the ninth century Castello Magalotti. Two of the original 7 towers still stand and a long stone wall runs along a walking route.
Driving deeper into the park, we pass alpine meadows, beech woods, wildflower gardens, limestone mounds, trees with cascading yellow flowers, and the same wild Sibillini Orchids that grow on our property. They are deep purple, almost burgundy on the top of the plant. As they open, they lighten to a creamy white with purple spots. They look like angels with a purple halo.
We reach a crossroads. The way left is blocked, earthquake rubble strewn in the road. Taking a right, we pass through a mostly deserted town. Walls collapsed, roofs missing, buildings torn in two. My camera sits like a privileged weight in my lap. I close my eyes as we pass; I don’t want to feel like a gawker.
That evening from our Le Marche home the Sibillini summits catch the last light of the setting sun. Pink clouds halo above the peaks. Two months later I read that the resilient residents of the Sibillini, who for centuries have excelled at and relied on tourism, are reopen for business. Ninety percent of the tourist facilities are ready to receive the travelers who come the Sibillini, searching for something.
It was dark the first time we went to Urbisaglia, a partially walled hilltop town. My husband Matt and I walked toward the piazza, following dubious GPS coordinates. To our left a tall round tower was illuminated. I deviated down the side street to approach it. Behind it loomed a massive castle.
We couldn’t stay. We had dinner reservations—as it turns out, down the hill on the main highway. The enchanting village of Urbisaglia would have to wait.
Urbs Salvia was an important Roman city, likely founded in the first century BC at the crossroads of two major routes that spanned the region. Roman walls still stand guard along the main highway at the bottom of the hill, now an archeological park. Remarkably preserved ruins include temples, a theater, and an amphitheater that held gladiatorial events. Every summer, actors perform classical plays in the amphitheater.
The Amphitheater at the Parco Archeologico
The Visigoths destroyed Urbs Salvia in 409 AD, and the citizens fled up the hill for safety. The lower city’s prosperity was preserved under a landslide for future discovery. Dante writes about Urbisaglia’s demise in Paradiso: “…Seeing that even cities have an end.”
The castle on the top of the hill was finished in 1507, built on the site of ancient Roman remnants and hints of a twelfth century fortification. It is an asymmetrical trapezoid with four towers at the corners. We had passed the largest one.
Built by the city of Tolentino, who ruled Urbisaglia at the time, the castle’s layout was designed to not only defend against outside threats, but also to repress internal rebellion from the resentful citizens of Urbisaglia who wanted autonomy. They would not obtain it until 1569.
Called La Rocca, the castle overshadows the city’s main Piazza Garibaldi. An adjacent church faces the piazza. On the opposite side is a bakery we go to for an aperitivo. Matt always orders a spritz. He says the guy there makes a good one. I always order a prosecco. We sit outside, always at the same table, the one closest to the church. It’s become “ours.”
Waiting for my drink, I go to the cash machine across the street to my right. It’s molasses slow but reliable. The pharmacy, a post office, and a clothing store are on the left side of the piazza. A good restaurant is down the block. A gelateria and another bar is on our walk back to the car.
The waiter carries our drinks with the reverence of an offering plate. Or it could be that he does not want my prosecco to tip over. His tray is laden with small pizza triangles, focaccia rectangles, potato chips, olives, peanuts, and breads of all sorts. I picture him looking at what he has on hand and deciding what freshly baked goods we should try this time. He plates it just so. It’s his work. That and Italians never drink alcohol without food.
We arrive after school is out and before dinner starts. We can smell it cooking. Young kids play soccer in the square. They make up rules Matt understands and he explains them to me. The ball hits the church frequently. It flies our way often. Once, the ball hit the bakery’s facade and I thought the door would break. One time, the ball went through the open door and into the store.
Men gather and talk politics. I try not to eavesdrop but pick up helpful phrases. Mothers arrive, yelling “ragazzi, ragazzi,” to collect their children. One evening a woman apologized to me (in Italian!) for the noise. I replied that it was fun for us. At least that’s what I hope I said.
A grandmother and her cat peered out from a balcony window in the same pose and I could not bring myself to raise my camera. It would intrude. I realize now I have no pictures of this piazza, our favorite aperitivo place. In Urbisaglia, despite my huge camera, I am not a turista. I am a non-local.
Our country house is technically under Tolentino’s jurisdiction, although we are equidistantly 15 minutes from Urbisaglia and Tolentino. We do our shopping and business in the higher-populated Tolentino. But Urbisaglia is where we relax under the fortress that protected a city worth fighting for.
San Ginesio is a fortified hilltop town and is named one of the borghi più belli d’Italia, (the most beautiful villages in Italy). At the bar in the piazza there, my husband Matt ordered us sandwiches and wine for lunch. I was emailing our real estate agent Kevin our offer to buy the house that we had traveled to see. We had left him less than fifteen minutes prior at the main city gate.
Kevin had told us that San Ginesio was hit hard by the earthquakes that struck the region in the fall of 2016. The clock on the tall tower in San Ginesio’s piazza was stuck at 7:29. The Collegiata church, a treasure of the city since 1098, was braced with steel bars and fenced-off, closed for repairs. It is said that Charlemagne’s parents, King Pipin the Short and his wife Bertrada are entombed just inside the entrance.
The florist across the church was open. Flowers and plants spilled out into the walkway, a display of undaunted beauty. The heat of the February sun was an antidote to the cold.
View of the Monti Sibillini from San Ginesio
Part of its accessible charm, Le Marche has no large cities. Its many cultural, historical, gastronomical, and natural gems are spread throughout the region, scattered like Carnevale confetti. Ancona, the Adriatic port transportation center and capital of the region tops population lists with about 100,000 inhabitants. Yet only one in four of all municipalities in Le Marche have more than 5,000 residents.
You might think that all of these beautiful-medieval-walled-hilltop towns look alike. That they are nondescript, that they would blur into each other after seeing maybe, two. You might think they are tourist traps filled with souvenir shops. That they are contrived for our visiting benefit. You would be mistaken.
Not far from San Ginesio (pop. 1500), the ‘balcony of the Sibillini Mountains,’ with its enviable views, is Ripe San Ginesio (pop. 800). A jewel box of a village with public sculptures displayed everywhere. It even has a huge chessboard with tiered seating and panoramic vistas over the valley, should your attention wander from the match.
Chessboard in Ripe San Ginesio
Amandola (pop. 3500), to the south and west, another gateway to the Sibillini, is a labyrinth of narrow zig-zags up a steep hill. Through the city gate barely wide enough for a Fiat 500, the lovely piazza is above a church reached by descending steps. Too cold to try the local gelato, at a gourmet shop just inside the city gate we sampled, then bought, local cheeses (one aged in a cave), truffles (a local speciality), and wines (at bargain prices).
The Marchigiani themselves voted the Piazza del Popolo in Ascoli Piceno as the most beautiful of the piazze in Le Marche. With 49,200 residents, Ascoli Piceno is the fourth-largest city in the Marche, but retains a small-town feel. Two football (soccer) nets stood on opposite ends of the large piazza and children were playing. Decorations hung overhead to celebrate the upcoming Carnevale. Made of shimmering travertine, the piazza is fronted by a church, cloisters, and Caffè Meletti, justifiably famous for its anise liquor made on site (really good in coffee). Every August, Ascoli Piceno holds a medieval reenactment festival and a jousting tournament in the piazza.
Piazza del Popolo, Ascoli Piceno
Tolentino (pop. 20,000), along the Chienti River, was a settlement of the Picenes who came to Le Marche in the early Iron Age (ninth-century BC) after being guided here by a woodpecker (picus in Latin). Accessed by a 13thcentury, one-lane bridge (yes it’s scary) called Ponte del Diavolo (Devil’s bridge), Tolentino is a town with intact fortifications, a continuing heritage of pilgrimage visitors, and a thriving leather making industry.
Vehicles crossing Tolentino’s Ponte del Diavolo
Tolentino’s clock tower is worth driving over the bridge for.On the north side of Piazza Libertà, the 16thcentury bell tower of the church of San Francesco has five elements. The top circle indicates the moon phase, the second shows the hours for prayers, the third gives the time, the fourth the day and the month, and barely visible at the bottom is a solar meridian line.
Clocktower in Tolentino
Loro Piceno (pop. 2400) is perched on a hill and dominated by a Norman castle with a large shaded park. Loro, as it is commonly referred to, is known for its Vin Cotto, cooked wine, made by heating it to concentrate the flavor and is often served for dessert. (Or with dessert, it’s that good, and no one will judge you.)
We returned to San Ginesio three months later, in May. We had closed on the house and went to the weekly market there. Our bag of potatoes, onions, and peppers was only €0.80. Matt brought our haul down to the car and we walked up to the piazza, to where it all started. The church was still boarded up behind the chain-link fence. But this time, the clock accurately displayed 12:35.
See a map of the region with the cities mentioned click here.
Read my prior story about Le Marche and its founding myths click here.
A founding legend of Italy’s Le Marche region says that in the early Iron Age (Ninth century BC), a group of the Italic Sabines headed west, over the Apennine mountains. They were part of an ancient ritual, ver sacrum, or sacred spring, whereby all the babies born in the spring after a year of hardship were consecrated to the god of Mars. As children, they lived under Mars’ protection as sacrani. When they reached adulthood, they were sent away from their community to establish a new one elsewhere, guided by a spirit animal sacred to Mars. Strabo tells us that a woodpecker (picus in Latin) guided these sacrani to their new destiny in southern Marche.
Another legend relates that some Pelasgians, ancient Greeks, coming from the North, asked Mars to give them a sign after not finding a suitable place to stay. A woodpecker appeared. Following it, they were led to a fertile place to settle in Le Marche.
The Sibillini Mountains, Le Marche, Italy
Le Marche, the Italian plural word for the Marches, means borderlands, and served as a buffer zone between the Papal States and their northern neighbors. This diverse area bordered by the Apennine mountains, Umbria and Tuscany to the West; the Adriatic to the East; Emilia-Romagna to the North; and Abruzzo to the South, is worth seeking out.
Medieval hilltop towns overlook the rolling countryside of patchwork farms and woods. A heritage of high-quality craftsmanship permeates the area known for its ironwork; shoe manufacturing, (Tod’s is headquartered here); and papermaking, (Euro bank notes are printed in Fabriano); to mention but a few. Twenty-five villages have been designated as borghi più belli d’Italia, (the most beautiful villages in Italy) and host frequent festivals and reenactments.
Loro Piceno, hilltop town in Le Marche
Le Marche has fewer tourists, friendly locals, 400 museums, 200 Romanesque churches, 150 castles, and 33 archeological sites. Ten percent of the territory is protected as parks and preserves. Excellent local meats, seafood, cheeses, pastas, produce, truffles, and wines add to the allure.
A complicated history; competing and changing loyalties; mountainous terrain; rivers that challenged north-south travel; a tenant farming culture that encouraged independence; and ingrained humility; all combine to make Le Marche today: Italy’s best-kept secret.
Piazza in Ripe San Ginesio, Italy
My husband Matt and I went in off-off-season February. We were not there to visit Urbino, the UNESCO World Heritage Renaissance city in northern Marche, or to swim in the dazzling Adriatic, or to hike in the mountains. We had planned to do all of that in the spring but pushed up our trip because I had seen an ad for a restored farmhouse on eight acres at a reasonable price and we wanted to see it.
Savvy travelers rent vacation homes in Le Marche lured by the peaceful countryside, relaxing atmosphere, and incredible views. We prequalified for an Italian mortgage in case we found a home that we could enjoy in our spare time and rent out to visitors.
San Ginesio, Italy
Online pictures of Le Marche showed impossible blue skies, paper-white clouds, and vibrant sunflowers. I assumed they had been photoshopped. Thick gray clouds threatened rain as we drove the two-and-a half hours from Rome to our Airbnb in Loro Piceno in south-central Marche.
Below us, wispy fog wafted in the valley. On either side, sloping squares of green and brown fields were bordered by olive trees. Smoke curled upwards from chimneys. A neighbor’s dog barked occasionally. Magpies darted about, landing on nearby trees. The cold, clean air carried the promise of the nearby Adriatic.
Le Marche, olive trees,
During our week in Le Marche we encountered no other tourists. We found generous residents, resilient and recovering from three earthquakes that struck the region in 2016. We found hilltop villages with medieval secrets. We found an almost reverential respect for the environment. We found ancient Roman ruins right by the main road. We found honest, delicious food and unpretentious wines at affordable prices. We found warm welcomes. The guys at Saputi, a winery where we showed up unannounced, who made us sandwiches and taught us about local wines. Gabriele at Osteria Scherzi a Parte who made an international toast to us with his entire restaurant. Palmira at Ristorante Casa Mia who, after a four-hour lunch, hugged and kissed us goodbye and ordered us to come back.
Ripe San Ginesio
Three months later, in early May, we returned to Le Marche. It was almost evening and Matt and I were unpacking in the farmhouse we had initially traveled to see, having bought it earlier that day. We heard a noise from outside. Rhythmic and insistent, almost urgent. I looked out the window. A stubborn woodpecker was pecking away at the eave above our bedroom.
When Italians talk about Venice, they roll their eyes upwards wistfully. Then, “Ah. bellissima, ma è molto costosa.” Very beautiful but very expensive.
True, compared to many Italian cities, Venice is expensive. But it does not have to be. The city’s secrets are revealed only on a budget and away from the crowd. You could stay in one of the many opulent hotels along the Grand Canal for $1,000 per night, and eat at famous and pricey restaurants, but you won’t get beneath the surface of this enchanting lagoon.
Nicknamed La Serenissima, the most serene, Venice is often anything but serene near San Marco, one of the city’s six districts, and where you’ll find the Piazza San Marco, the Doge’s Palace, the Basilica, and hordes of oblivious selfie-snapping tourists jammed into tight alleys. Don’t sleep, eat, or shop in San Marco if you value your sanity.
Piazza San Marco
Twenty million tourists visit Venice every year. Go when they don’t. My husband and I went over Thanksgiving five years ago and had the place to ourselves. It was freezing, rainy, and peaceful. In March my daughter and I did not have to wait in line to enter the Basilica. Summers are chaotic. We used to visit the first week in October, over the Chinese National holiday, but I have noticed a dramatic increase in Chinese tourists doing the same thing. Traveling in winter (avoiding Carnevale) is a less expensive and offers a more authentic experience.
Stay near the Campo di San Giacomo dell’Orio, in the Santa Croce district. In the Campo, we enjoy an aperitivo and watch kids play soccer, owners walk their dogs, and neighbors meet. The Coop grocery store on the corner has lengthy checkout lines but anything you’ll need. There’s even a nearby laundromat next to a bar.
The Campo San Giacomo dell’Orio
Campiello Zen is an ideal B&B for first-time visitors. The owners, Susanna and Andrea, take you under their wing and introduce you to the Venice they love. They give personalized recommendations for under-appreciated sights and local restaurants to try. They’ll make your dinner reservations, show you how to get around, and ensure your first vacation in labyrinthine Venice is memorable. With only three (albeit gorgeous) rooms though, book well in advance.
Ca’ San Giorgio is an excellent B&B in a recently renovated fourteenth-century building that teems with history.An ancient well dominates the courtyard entrance. Stone walls and wood-beamed ceilings complement tasteful furnishings. Here too, the staff can make reservations, offer suggestions, and arrange transportation. Reserve the junior suite with the altana, a Venetian rooftop terrace. You’ll love the views.
An altana from an altana
We lived like locals at an Airbnb apartment in Venice with a rooftop terrace on our last visit. It was spacious and well-appointed with a full kitchen and a clothes washer. Our host recommended restaurants and had numerous travel guidebooks available. The price was very reasonable and with a kitchen, you can save on food costs.
Before you leave home, buy a Venezia Unica City Pass online. With a Venezia Unica pass, you can create your own savings for vaporetto (waterbus) tickets, museum entrances, airport transfers, and more. Most important—you can skip the lines at museums!
Arriving in Venice by plane is thrilling; get a window seat to see the lagoon from above. To reach Venice from Marco Polo airport, you have a few options. All of them can be arranged in the arrivals hall at ticket counters or by machine.
A bus is the cheapest—but take the ATVO express to Piazzale Roma, it takes about 25 minutes. The ACTV bus #5 makes 17 stops! From Piazzale Roma, you can take a vaporetto anywhere in Venice.
A car taxi can also bring you to Piazzale Roma. It costs about € 40. Venice does not have Uber.
Alilaguna ferries operate four routes from the airport docks to a variety of stops around the city that may be convenient for you. Tickets can be purchased online or at the arrivals hall.
A water taxi is the most expensive but an exhilarating way to arrive. The fresh air is a jet lag antidote and you’ll feel like a rockstar. Expect to pay around € 90. It will not take long to get to your destination! Pay at the counter in the arrivals hall and your sleek boat will be waiting when you get to the docks.
We always eat our first meal at Muro San Stae. A short walk from our B&B, Muro’s delicious pizzas are reasonably priced and gondolieri often lunch here! It is open continuously so we don’t have to rush to get here during lunch hours. Try the dessert wine with cookies to dip. (Read more about dining in Italy here.)
Speaking of wine, order a mezzo litro (half liter) or un litro of the vino della casa. It will taste great and cost less than a bottle. Italians love bottled water but tap water is safe to drink. To save a few euros you could request acqua al rubinetto. Bring an empty water bottle to fill from the many fountains throughout the city.
Bar at La Bottega Ai Promessi Sposi
Our favorite restaurant in Venice is La Bottega Ai Promessi Sposi in Cannaregio. Almost everything in Venice is hidden, but Ai Promessi Sposi is a treasure worth seeking. At dinnertime, look for people standing outside eating meatballs. Make your way through the friendly crowd to the packed bar area. Heavy wood tables, hand-written menus, and bread served in paper bags add to the friendly atmosphere. The staffers are excellent at recommending what to order. Their fish, meat dishes, and pastas are all fantastic. The portions are large so you can share. (Uno per due.) Reservations are essential for dinner. (They don’t have a website. Call +39 041 241 2747)
Just off the Campo di San Giacomo dell’Orio, il Refolo is superbly located along a quiet canal. Open for lunch and dinner, it’s a wonderful place to eat outside and watch real-life Venice unfold. Run by the same family who own the famed (and expensive) Da Fiore, il Refolo’s pizzas are top-notch and affordable. Their penne is consistently the best I’ve had, and their grilled sea bream was perfection. With limited seating indoors, make a reservation. (No website. Call +30 041 524 0016)
If you get tired of seafood, reserve a table at La Bitta, just off the Campo San Barnaba in Dorsoduro. Their meat and seasonal pasta dishes are exceptional. In a small space with low wood-beamed ceilings, paper placemats, and hand-written menus posted on easels, the ambiance is friendly and unpretentious. Our server made excellent recommendations, and they also have a diverse wine selection. Bring cash-they don’t take credit cards. (+39 041 523 0531)
Ristorante Vinaria in San Polo was our lunchtime escape from the teeming masses in San Marco. Along the Riva del Vin, Vinaria has a peaceful courtyard and outdoor tables along the canal. Large windows give it an airy feel. Fresh, high-quality ingredients were artfully prepared. The scallops were a particular treat. Also open for dinner, I think it would make a good “date night” spot.
At least one evening, enjoy cichetti, the Venetian version of tapas. Meatballs, sandwiches, vegetables, crostini, cured meats, fresh seafood and more can all be had for around € 1-4 each starting at around 6 PM at a neighborhood bars and restaurants. Cichetti are usually eaten standing by the bar and accompanied by a glass of inexpensive local wine. Alla Vedova in Cannaregio is our favorite for € 1 meatballs and wine.
Hop on the waterbus to the church of San Giorgio Maggiore and take the elevator to the top of the bell tower. The views are stunning and it’s much less crowded than the Campanile di San Marco.
Burano
Rather than contend with congestion on the glass-blowing island of Murano, go to picturesque Burano, which has a rich history of seafaring and lacemaking. Enjoy fresh seafood and my favorite “S” cookies dunked in dessert wine at one of the many local restaurants.
At the I Frari church in Dorsoduro you can see artworks by Titan, Bellini, Canova with hopefully little company. Venice has an ever-changing art scene. Check the Venezia Unica website or ask when you arrive what exhibits are on display.
Ride the vaporetto 1 line down the Grand Canal at sunset. The buildings shimmer, lights reflect in the water, and when it gets dark, you can peek into the palazzi that front the canal.
Go to the Rialto fish market in early morning to see the spectacular array of fresh fish and produce.
If it’s not the Venice Biennale, the large Giardini Pubblici in Castello is a welcome retreat and the largest green space in Venice. Alternatively, the Giardinetti near the Piazzeta San Marco can be blissful in the off-season.
il Pavone di Pelosin Paolo
For gorgeous hand-bound journals, stamps, and stationary visit Paolo at il Pavone di Pelosin Paolo in his colorful shop. He’ll show you the back room where he dries his hand-decorated papers, the press on the display table, and how he binds his books. They make unique and beautiful gifts. Campiello dei Meloni in San Polo, 1478.
Toni at il Pantagruelica
Pick up the fabulous Parmigiano Reggiano Vacche Rosse at Il Pantagruelica where Toni will give you a sample and package it for shipping. He also carries cured meats, notable wines, balsamic vinegars, truffles in season, and other local specialties to take home. His shop is in Dorsoduro near the Campo San Barnaba.
Get out of town and visit the Prosecco wine region! We met Chiara, owner of Prosecco di Marca at the train station in Conegliano, a one-hour ride from Venice. She took us to visit two excellent wineries where we got private tours and tastings, one of which was in an old wine barrel among the vines. Her knowledge and insider access gave us a much better experience than if we’d gone on our own.
Prosecco tasting in this barrel
The roughly 60,000 residents of Venice are, for the most part, friendly and tourist-tolerant. However, in the seven years I’ve been visiting, visitor misbehavior is rising. Do not throw anything in the canal! Do not feed the pigeons. Don’t get me started on selfie-sticks. (They’re a great way to fall in the canal!) Help people carry baby strollers over bridges. Leave the golf umbrella at home, use a small one. Walk on the right side. Do not picnic on church steps. Use your inside voice.
Bring a good map but definitely get lost wandering the calli (alleys) and sotoportegi (covered passageways). Venice’s delights are discovered on a detour. Don’t try to see everything in one weekend. Travel slower and you’ll travel deeper.
As our plane descended in Gothenburg, Sweden, I woke up well rested in my SAS “Plus” seat. The champagne served in the airport lounge and after takeoff helped; that and our transatlantic flight was free. A driver waited at baggage claim to whisk my husband Matt and me to the Clarion Post hotel where we had a free night’s stay, free breakfast, and a free dinner at the hotel’s Marcus Samuelsson restaurant. We were not lucky contest winners. We had bought a Volvo from their Overseas Delivery Program (OSD).
Four months earlier, we had customized our XC90 SUV at a discount and without any destination fees. Our local Florida dealer had processed our order. A price list with all options eliminated haggling and made this our most pleasant car-buying experience yet. After we made a small deposit, our salesperson shook my hand and said, “Welcome to Volvo for life.”
Two weeks after we ordered, a package arrived with maps, brochures, books, and travel options to consider. Vehicle pick-up and drop-off locations throughout Europe and 15 days of auto insurance meant we could hit the Autobahn in Germany or drive the French Riviera. The travel agent offered discounted hotels, tours, and custom packages. Round-trip economy-plus airfare included a return flight from any Scandinavian airport. With only one week off around Thanksgiving, and a stop to make in Norway, we did not have time for the Autobahn.
Gothenburg, on Sweden’s west coast, is the country’s second-largest city. We arrived on a Saturday and spent the weekend eating arctic char, langoustines, mussels, and shrimps. We walked off the calories along canals, gardens, and the Christmas market. Trams and busses crisscrossed the city. The cars were mostly Volvos. This is a company town.
Meatball lunch at Volvo’s Visitor Centre
Monday morning Volvo sent a driver to bring us to their Visitor Centre. Our advisor Amanda handled our paperwork, then brought us to the delivery area to meet our car. We walked around it, confirming our color and option decisions. I was weirdly proud of the red Swedish license plates we could keep. Amanda took our picture with the car then ushered us back inside. Our Swedish meatball lunch in the Visitor Centre café was ready. The five other families who took delivery that day were already seated at tables.
After dessert and coffee we all joined our guide Nicole on the “blue train” that took us through Volvo’s Torslanda plant, which is the size of Monaco and the Vatican combined. Inside the body shop, sparks flew around large Transformers-like robots that assembled and welded. Workers on the assembly line drilled, bolted, and welded a variety of models. Most vehicle components were delivered via an overhead track. At the “marriage point,” a car body on the overhead track was lowered to join a powertrain on the line to become a car.
When we returned to the Visitor Centre, Amanda reunited us with our car. As we were first-time Volvo owners, she showed us how to use its features. We then took the highway toward Oslo, an easy three-hour drive north.
Nore Kirke in the snow
The next morning we left Oslo before dawn. I had told my grandfather that we would visit his grandmother’s church in Nore, a forested area two-and-a-half hours northwest of Oslo. She had immigrated to the United States when she was 16, but some of our family still lives near the old wooden church. My grandfather has a picture of it on his wall, next to a shingle from the old roof. He had longed to return to Nore, but had a stroke, making travel difficult.
Sverre the caretaker had agreed to open the church and meet us. Built in 1167, my great-great-grandmother’s stave church, named for its pine stave corner posts, is one of only 28 stave churches still standing. Sverre explained the Celtic art and pointed out Viking graffiti from 1190 carved in the center post. Two hours later, we were back on the road to Oslo, having recorded a video to show my grandfather.
Oslo Opera House
In Oslo we visited the Nobel Peace Center and walked up the roof of the waterfront opera house. Built with marble, white granite, and glass at angles, it evoked an iceberg jutting out of the water.
Before sunrise we left Oslo, detouring down the jagged Bohuslän coast from Norway to Gothenburg. Pink granite cliffs faced the indigo sea scattered with 8,000 rocky islands. We wended our way through picturesque fishing villages and spent the night at Salt & Sill, a floating “boatel” with a sauna and a rooftop hot tub on Tjörn Island, one hour from Gothenburg.
Kungshamn, Sweden
We dropped our car off at the Visitor’s Centre where Volvo would ship it to our local dealer, including marine insurance, customs fees, and port charges. A driver then brought us to the train station where we left for Stockholm, a three-hour ride.
Bartenders set our weekend agenda in Stockholm. Our first mixologist paired inventive cocktails with our tapas and recommended we walk the medieval Old Town. The next barman suggested the Vasa Maritime Museum, another told us to ferry to the Christmas Market. Our last evening there we barhopped their favorite local haunts.
Cocktails in Stockholm
A week later Volvo emailed me the name of the ship transporting our car. We tracked its progress online. It cleared customs and a few days later, our dealer called. Eight weeks after we dropped our car off in Gothenburg, we drove it home. Next time we buy a car, we’ll pick it up in the summer and take the Autobahn.
Nicola deftly slid the Margherita pizza from the pizza peel into his large wood-fired oven. Flames danced and crackled. The dough crusted and browned. Cheese melted and blistered. Ninety seconds after he put the pizza in, Nicola took it out and slipped it, still steaming, on a plate.
Nicola’s wife Andreina cut through the crispy crust twice, making four quarters. The cheese melted back together and dripped on the plate.
“Mangia! Mangia!” She said to my husband Matt and me, “Buon appetito!”
Andreina cutting pizza
We were in their expansive garden in Minori, a village ten minutes south of Amalfi and a world away from the tourist hordes there. Nicola and Andreina’s hillside terraces overlook the dramatic coastline but we did not come for the view. We came to learn how to make pizza.
Months earlier, I had Googled “pizza making class in Amalfi.” One result asked: Would you like to get your hands dirty with flour and prepare your very own pizza? Sì, certo. Clicking through I found BonAppetour, “A community marketplace that connects travelers with local home chefs for a unique home-dining experience, anywhere around the world.” Andreina and Nicola were available the one day we were in Amalfi while on a cruise.
View of the Adriatic from Sotto i Limoni
Their host name, Sotto i Limoni, (Under the Lemons) refers to their large lemon grove, under which they also grow vegetables. Andreina greeted us with fresh lemonade when we arrived. After a brief visit in their huge outdoor kitchen, the four of us donned aprons and got our hands dirty making pizza dough.
Nicola then gave us a tour of their many-leveled garden as we picked tomatoes, peppers, onions, and basil for our pizzas. Unruly grapevines grew on overhead trellises. Walnuts in their shells hung in bags under walnut trees. Nicola cracked some with a hammer on a wood stump and handed them to us to eat.
Outdoor kitchen at Sotto i Limoni
“You taste the difference,” he said as we tried both, “this year’s walnuts taste bitter. They are not ready yet.” He set some of last year’s walnuts aside for our pizza.
We sliced fresh mozzarella cheese, pinched sausage bundles, and cut tomatoes for toppings. We squished San Marzano tomatoes (they are the best) to make pizza sauce.
Matt and I cutting cutting tomatoes
In Nicola’s secret wine cellar he poured me a lovely white wine from the tank. He makes both red and a white using a wood press. Big plastic tubs lined the shelves above. Empty bottles stacked up waited to be filled. He smiled and downplayed his wine-making skills.
Back on the patio, Nicola taught us how to stretch out pizza dough. He pressed from the center and let the dough hang over the counter. “You could toss it,” he said, “but then you might drop it.”
Nicola getting the oven ready
He made a Margherita first, my favorite. I ate a piece watching Matt stretch his dough. He made sausage, tomatoes, and peppers. My turn came and Nicola intervened to help my lost cause. It eventually became a white pizza with gorgonzola cheese and walnuts topped with lettuce. My new favorite. Nicola kept making pizzas, finishing with a spectacular Nutella dessert pizza drizzled with limoncello.
Margherita pizza just into the oven
The four of us finally sat down together to eat, the three of us having nibbled while Nicola was making pizzas. We drank Nicola’s homemade wine. Their fifteen year old son Daniele returned from school and joined us, eating pizza as only a young man could. He opened a bottle of Prosecco for us. “Auguri!” (best wishes)
Andreina brought out a delicious homemade lemon tart we finished in minutes despite all the pizzas we’d eaten. Nicola poured us a Cicerenella, a local herbal liquor made with anise and orange flavors.
Margherita pizza 47 seconds after the photo above
“Aijz, aijz, aijz,” they taught us to say in dialect as we raised our glasses together.“Avasc, avasc, avasc,” we repeated as we lowered them. “Accost, accost, accost,” we put them together. “A salùt nost!” we toasted and drank.
Their homemade limoncello came last. Made with the famous and geographically protected Limone Costa d’Amalfi, it was the best we’ve ever had—and we’ve had a lot.
Five hours after we arrived, we left Nicola, Andreina, and Daniele, knowing how to make pizza. And we felt like we had spent the afternoon with good friends.
Try BonAppetour and save $10 on your next home-dining experience. (Full disclosure, I’ll get a $10 credit too!)
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